Sunset sets me free from the flames that I can’t convince out of my hair. This place never changes. A year since my toes touched this stone but it feels like yesterday. A bright, incendiary ball is hovering over my sister’s head but this time I’m curiously unworried. It’s only the sun, though. Somehow this way it seems normal. Continue Reading…
There is a certain circularity to these things. They bite you in the ass just as you’re wrestling the tail into the ground, so to speak. I recently had opportunity to be asked if I were a Muslim. Perhaps a little background would be helpful. I frequently comment and post in a left-wing feminist online group on Facebook – at times weekly, at times a dozen or more times a week, depending on the topics that come up and, often, how far afield the discussion has strayed into territories that touch on my areas of expertise and show no signs of understanding that feel like they need a little direction to help along without everyone getting confused. That, of course, is where this began.
jumping from her chair as she heard the grating sound of metal upon metal, angela reached the window of her cottage on the south downs in time to see a vision that had only appeared possible as a theory in her mind, not something to happen in real life. there was perhaps one #train a day this far out from civilization, two at the most but never running at even similar times. the collision between two, one obviously a passenger #train and the other a flaming mess of burning liquid, was something that she could not understand, believing her eyes or not. running through the door into the snow hanging limp in the air, she called out to her sister without even thinking that she had left for the weekend and could certainly not hear her from her hostel in amsterdam. angela pounded one step after another in the direction of the flames, #fire pouring high into the darkening sky. how could this have happened? there is not another cottage for #miles. by the time anyone else sees the #smoke or expects the #trains to arrive, it will be too late for the passengers.
#birth happened. that’s all i can say about it reliably. i know nothing else. it wasn’t until almost ten minutes later that i realized that i wasn’t in a hospital. it was either the pain or the joy. i hope it was the joy. it was the pain. i was told once that nothing hurts more than a paper cut. if i could invite the person who shared that insight with me to give #birth to a four-pound #child surrounded by the comfort of a newly-vacated first-class lounger on a #transatlantic redeye, without the benefit of either doctor or medication, i would do so. i shall leave it at that, however. the remaining two hours of the #flight into frankfurt were as uneventful as one can imagine the first two hours of life would be, surrounded by a crowd of apathetic strangers in a flying cigar, pressurized to the point of crushing the bones in a newly-formed skull. simply put, it was loud. quiet in comparison but mindlessly vibrant in the moment.
echoes of selves.
[ or ]
history through eyes of glass.
hearing through new eyes.
[ or ]
image as humanity’s defining language.
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